


Heavy is the Crown

by Sparklingstarsandmoonbeams



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Historical Romance - Fandom, elizabeth of york - Fandom, henry vii - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklingstarsandmoonbeams/pseuds/Sparklingstarsandmoonbeams
Summary: A/N: So this is my GoT meets the start of the Tudor dynasty au. Essentially Robb is Henry VII, Elisa is Elizabeth of York. Just as GoT takes historical liberties with the War of the Roses, so too, will this story take from some of the historical elements of Henry VII/Elizabeth of York and some will be fictionalized.No disrespect to Mr. Martin or the writers and creators of GoT.Warnings: NonePairings: Robb Stark x OFC, Elisa Lannister, Jon Targaryen x Ygritte WilderCatelyn Arryn x Ned Stark





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this is my GoT meets the start of the Tudor dynasty au. Essentially Robb is Henry VII, Elisa is Elizabeth of York. Just as GoT takes historical liberties with the War of the Roses, so too, will this story take from some of the historical elements of Henry VII/Elizabeth of York and some will be fictionalized.   
> No disrespect to Mr. Martin or the writers and creators of GoT.
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> Pairings: Robb Stark x OFC, Elisa Lannister, Jon Targaryen x Ygritte Wilder  
> Catelyn Arryn x Ned Stark

The Isles  
Mid Autumn

My Lady,

We have assembled a misfit band of sell swordsmen, prisoners, farmers in search of glory and riches, and a small pack of hardened warriors, long ago cast off by the Lannisters. I fear that it will not be enough and that at the slightest hint of the fight turning against us, they will be gone. Robb is morose; the lack of support from those he considered his kinsmen along with the riff raff we have assembled has him concerned that victory is not assured. We need more men. Will House Mormont, Greyjoy, Reed, or Westerling not join our our cause? Lannister rulers have been no friends of theirs. 

He is wavering, Cat, and I fear that postponing will drive him more deeply into despair. 

What of the marriage arrangement? Will the former queen not assent to a marriage before the battle? It would be a show of good faith and could rally more banners to our side.

We await your word. 

I remain yours, as ever,  
NS

 

Catelyn tossed the scroll into the fire, watching it burn and smoulder among the flames until all that remained was a wisp of smoke. 

Pacing from one corner to the other she allowed herself a brief moment of pity. Once she’d inhabited an estate nearly as large as a palace, she’d been the head of a staff of hundreds, and her every comfort and need was attended to. And then the wars had come and the Starks, unflinchingly faithful to the true king, Grayson Tully, had lost the head of their household, their estates, and been forced to flee to The Isles with the last living heir to the throne and Catelyn’s only child, Robb. When Ned Stark had fled his homeland, taking his then ten year old nephew with him, Catelyn had been forced to remain behind in the Winter Kingdom, married off to some newly knighted lord of his majesty’s. Once of the royal house herself, Catelyn Tully Stark, now Catelyn Arryn, was nothing more than the widowed wife of a knight. 

And now, now they were so close. So close to restoring a Baratheon king to the throne, so close to bringing her son, her boy, home. But Ned’s letter, his fear for Robb and what lay before them, his plea for help all lay before her like the shattered pieces of a glass bowl. Never one to shirk from a challenge, Catelyn called for a horse to be saddled. She’d pick up every last piece of that bowl even if her hands bled. She had not come this far and endured so much to not see this through to the end.   
******

The Winter Kingdom  
Thatchers Cove, Darbyshire

“Isa!? Isa? Wherever have you gone?” Lyanna Lannister’s voice rang out.

“Here. I’m here, Mother,” the response came, carried on the wind before her daughter appeared as if from the mist that rose from the gardens. 

“Why are you out wandering the gardens so late? You know it’s not safe for you, for any of us right now,” Lyanna fretted, wrapping her daughter’s cloak more tightly against the cold. 

“I needed...air. I needed some air,” she said, though her troubled eyes and the worried set of her brow said something else.

“You had a dream?” Lyanna prompted.

“A wolf, a bear, a Kraken, and a lizard all gathered in a circle around a lion with the face of a dragon. From the darkness another wolf approaches to place a crown on the lion-dragon. And then there is a great gust of wind and sleet and hail and bodies litter the ground and it’s quiet and still except a hand from the ground reaches up, holding a crown.”

“And then? What else do you see, Isa?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing else, Mother. Just a hand holding onto a crown. I can’t see who the hand belongs to, I can’t see the faces of the bodies, it’s all a blur,” the girl sobs, her body racked with violent shaking.

“Shh, it’s alright my sweet, it’s alright,” Lyanna soothed, arms wrapped tightly about this girl who she has loved and protected with an intensity so fierce it has seemed to border on madness.

This girl, her daughter, her eldest child is nearly all that remains to her. There are two little ones, evidence of the great love shared between her and her long dead husband, King Henry, but the others, the two boys she’d borne, the two daughters who’d come later, one after Isa and the other after the boys, are gone now. Ellaria is married to an Islander and it has been three years since she has seen her daughter. The boys, Matthew and Anthony, had been captured and executed in secret, their bodies paraded about the kingdom as a symbol of what would befall anyone who dared voice support for Henry, his wife, or his children. The last girl, Margot, had been a frail thing from the start and the years spent in the sanctuary of the Abbey crypts had finally taken their toll. Now, all that remained of a once royal family was three girls, an eighteen year old beauty with the dark looks of her mother but the poise and ease and gentleness of her father and two little girls, Marianna and Brigitte. 

Lyanna trembled at the image her daughter had explained. Most of its meaning was clear to her but Isa’s inability to see who the hand belonged to or who the bodies were gave her pause. 

“What should I do, Mother?”

“We must pray to the old gods, my sweet. Pray that they send us guidance and wisdom and that they let you see the face of the hand holding the crown.”

Isa nodded slowly. She had been praying for just that and yet the dream always ended before she could make out anyone. 

“Come along, love. Let’s get you inside and warmed and then you can rest,” Lyanna said gently. 

Turning back towards the house Isa watched the mist rise from the ground and another shudder rippled through her body. “He is near,” the wind seemed to whisper in her ear and she gasped. A moment later the ground seemed to rise up before her, a gigantic chasm of darkness opening its mouth to swallow and then everything went black.

****

The Winter Kingdom  
Tower Hall, City Proper

The king was in a state. Pacing the length of the room he looked worriedly from the bed back to the doctors, back to the bed. 

“And there is no more to be done?” he questioned, unable to meet their pitying eyes. 

“There is nothing further we might do, your grace. Bleeding her would only weaken her body further and Doctor Marcus and I have tried every medicine and ointment available to us,” the larger man said.

“And you have availed yourself of....other remedies used among the commoners?”

“Sorcery and magic, your grace. The queen would never have consented to such treatments,” Marcus said. 

The room fell silent as King George swept a table full of small bottles onto the floor, his face red with anger as he turned back to face the doctors. 

“I do not care what the queen would have consented to. You try everything there is and perhaps when she is well again her feeling about these other...treatments, will change. Do I make myself clear?” he bellowed.

The two men bowed low as the heavy door banged against the stone wall. 

“Tyrell!” the king roared and his private secretary appeared as if from thin air. 

“Yes, your grace?” 

“Send a letter to Darbyshire informing Lady Lyanna that she and her daughters are summoned to court immediately.”

“Yes, your grace,” the man said, rushing off to do his lordship’s bidding. 

“Clegane, take twenty of your best men and ride for Thatchers Cove at once. Bring the Lady Lyanna and her daughters back to court at once. Unharmed and unmolested, Clegane.”

The knight, as tall and as broad as an ancient oak tree bowed and went in search of his party. 

“Majesty?” a voice questioned from the shadowy corners of the hall. 

“Speak Pycelle or I’ll have your tongue!”

“It is only that I wondered if it would be wise to bring the Qu...the Lady Lyanna back to court with the queen so gravely ill. Some may see it as a sign that you intend to marry the prin..the Lady Elisa.”

George faced the bowed old man who had been his brother’s most trusted advisor. It had been a foolishly placed trust that led to Henry’s downfall in the end but George had kept the old man about for his connections and his secret web of informants who knew what happened from the kitchens all the way to the Isles. 

“She is my niece, you old fool. I have no intention of marrying her or any of that whore’s bastard progeny. I have a queen.”

“Forgive me, your grace but the queen’s condition seems unlikely to improve and as you lack an heir, a wife, particularly one of Lady Elisa’s breeding and connections, would only serve to strengthen your claim.”

Pycelle found himself slammed back against the wall, gasping for breath as the king’s arm cut across his throat. 

“Do not speak to me of claims and connections, Pycelle. I am well aware that if left unguarded and unwatched Lyanna may seek to arrange a marriage between her daughter and that whelp of a usurper, Robb Stark. It is the very reason I am having them brought here so that I may ensure their obedience and loyalty to the crown.”

Releasing the man from his hold, Pycelle fell to the ground, hands rubbing at his throat. 

Storming down the hall to his chambers he shook with rage. If Elisa wound up in Robb Stark’s bed, Mormont, Reed, Westerling, and Greyjoy were all likely to join his cause. And with so many of the great houses behind him, it was nearly improbable that Stark would lose.


	2. Chapter 2

The Winter Kingdom  
Gloucester Port

NS-

I write to inform you that I have the prize in hand. We sail on the evening tide, gods be good.   
Pray for our safe passage. 

Yours-  
CTA

Ned tossed the scroll into the fire. It had arrived by raven only an hour earlier and if his calculations were correct, the party should be arriving at dusk. Offering a silent prayer for an uneventful passage for Catelyn and her traveling companion, he went in search of his nephew.

 

The arrow bounced off the bale of hay they had been using for practice and clattered to the ground, resting in the mud.

“Again,” Robb ordered, watching the young boy draw the next arrow back and release with the same results.

He rubbed his temple. They had been at this nearly the entire morning and the boy showed no improvement. Yet this was the lot of green soldiers he was expected to win a war with. 

“That’s enough for today, Yates. Go see if the cook has anything for you to eat.”

“Yes, m’lord, I mean, your grace. Thank you, your grace,” the young man stammered, bowing and nodding.

“How did the earlier crop fair?” Robb asked his Master of Arms, Jon Targaryen.

“Hardly better. There was one who seemed capable enough, could at least land an arrow. Edd tells me the boy’s a right terror with a sword though. Bested two of our finest swordsmen handily.”

“His name?”

“Gendry. Says he’s a bastard and bears his mother’s surname; Rhodes.”

“Rhodes as in the Mormont Rhodes’?”

Jon nodded, his smile significantly brighter than just a few moments before, “The very same.”

“Have him sent to my tent,” he said, “I want to see this swordsman for myself.”

“Who are we discussing?” Ned asked, catching the two younger men by surprise.

“Edd’s found us another swordsman,” Jon offered.

“I was asking Jon to arrange for the boy to meet with me, show me his skills.”

Ned nodded, “I’ve heard rumors about this lad from the camp. They say he’s a bull.”

“Well good, because we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Speaking of help, there’s been a scroll from your lady mother,” Ned said lowly, scanning the space for extra sets of ears. 

“Oh? And has she rallied the other banners to our cause?”

“I believe she’s bringing you the most important banner of all, Robb.”

Robb looked at his uncle, his face a mask of stone.

“She has the Lannister girl?” he whispered.

“If I am interpreting her missive correctly they should be arriving by dusk.”

“Did you know about this?” Robb asked, turning to Jon.

“I haven’t had a letter from the Que...from my sister in many weeks. Last I heard she and the girls were sequestered in Darbyshire at the King's command.”

“Then what has changed?” Robb mused aloud.

*****

“My Lady Arryn, might we not stop for a moment? I fear the Lady Elisa has grown ill,” Lyanna called out to the woman riding ahead of her.

Catelyn turned, shook her head once and continued on. 

“This is madness, Catelyn and you know it,” Lyanna chided, riding up beside her.

“We must arrive to camp immediately. We are not safe until we are with Robb and Ned. Lady Elisa will have the chance to rest then.”

Lyanna sighed, turning her horse and heading to the back of the line.

The little girls, Marianna and Brigitte were tucked into a wagon, their eyes wide in fear, their small bodies still despite the rugged terrain jostling them about.

“Not much longer now, girls,” Lyanna whispers to her babies. 

Elisa was on horseback, surrounded by four of Lady Arryn’s personal guard and even from this distance Lyanna can see the pale face, the two darkening circles beneath her eyes, the gaunt line of her cheeks.

“Lady Arryn assures me we are very nearly there, dear heart.”

A faint nod, though even that small motion appeared to be a significant effort.

“I am certain that there will be a fire and ample opportunity for you to rest. I’m sure the finest tents have been prepared for you.”

“It is a war camp, Mother. We shall be lucky to have a meal or a tent without holes to let in the rain.”

“Even still. You are to be his queen. He will have been schooled in proper courtesies and manners.”

Elisa smiled wanly. Everything she had heard about the young wolf suggested he would not be interested in courtesies. No, Robb Stark’s interest in her began and ended with the connections and allegiances she could bring him along with the great love the people of the Winter Kingdom still bore for her father and mother. Why else would he order her to be stolen away in the night like a chest of jewels? 

She’d been abed, recovering from her fall in the garden and the excruciating headaches new dreams always brought, when Lady Arryn had ridden onto the estate. She hadn’t even known they had a guest until her mother and Lottie, their lone lady’s maid had burst through the doors.

“Quickly now,” Lyanna had ordered, “Dress warmly and wear those boots we had made. Lottie pack the Princ...Lady Elisa’s trunk. Not too much now, we won’t have much time.”

Elisa had opened her mouth to protest, to question this sudden departure but there had been no time before her mother was bustling off to the girls’ room. 

She had realized the full plan as soon as she saw Lady Arryn in the hall.

“We must leave this very night,” Lyanna had whispered as they headed for the horses, “Lady Arryn has heard whispers that the Queen is unwell.”

“Unwell? But she’s…”

“Only human and has always been frail. Lady Arryn believes that the King will send for you if only to keep you close.”

“But why would he…”

“Surely you must realize that if George wins this battle that he will need a queen. A young queen from a fertile family to ensure his line.”

“He is my uncle, Mother.”

“And for generations the Lannisters married within their own family, brothers and sisters, aunts and nephews. It would not be unheard of. And he needs you, dear one. Needs you to rally the Targaryen forces and your father’s many supporters to his cause.”

“And if the Stark boy loses?”

“Then you shall insist we were dragged forcibly from our home. Don’t you see, Isa? These men need you. Without you they are nothing. Without you the battle may be won but the war rages on. Neither is secure without a Lannister girl.”

“But Marianna and Brigitte…”

“Are 7 and 5. There is only you, Isa. Only you.”

She knew it was true. Had known it now for nearly ten years, had known it as soon as the dreams started before her eighth name day. 

“Perhaps the dreams were wrong. Perhaps I have not seen what would be only things I thought might be.”

“Is there anything you have dreamed that has not come to pass?”

Elisa shook her head.

“Then we must believe that what you’ve seen. Just as you saw your father’s end, the wolf crowning the lion-dragon, will come to pass.”

She wanted to argue, to remind her mother that the vision had not ended with the crowning but rather with a deadly battle that littered the ground with the dead, one soldier holding a crown aloft. She still did not know who that soldier was. Lyanna had gone on ahead to check on the wagon.

“Is it true, Ellie?” Marianna asked from beside her.

“Is what true, poppet?”

“That you will be Queen like Mother?”

Brigitte began to cry, “I don’t want you to be the Queen! You have to live in the dungeons beneath the Abbey and you can’t play in the sunshine.”

“Hush now. It’s alright,” Elisa soothed the little girl, “No one will hurt you or keep you from the sunshine ever again.”

Settling the girls into the wagon with a kiss to each of their foreheads she went to mount her own horse, stopping as Catelyn Arryn’s arm struck like a snake about her wrist.

“I know what you are, girl,” the woman had hissed.

“And what might that be Lady Arryn?”

“I know about your...visions and what you claim to see. I know you believe you are entitled to the throne just as your mother did before you.”

“I claim no right to anything other than what the gods choose to give.” 

The older woman stared at her, eyes so dark in the night that Elisa could barely make them out. 

“We all have a part to play and this is yours. You would do well to remember it. And henceforth you shall address me as ‘my lady, the king’s mother.’”

“I shall address you as such when your son is well and truly the king, Lady Arryn.”

Elisa lifted the skirt of her gown and continued forward to her horse. 

“Careful now, Princess,” the man assisting her said lowly, “Dragons aren’t the only ones who can spit fire.” 

The road dragged on endlessly, quiet save for the sound of the wind through the trees, the clip clop of horses, and the steady grinding sound of the wagon as it bumped along the muddy road. 

Elisa’s head throbbed, a steady heartbeat against her temples leaving her stomach roiling and her knuckles white where she gripped to the pommel of the saddle. Shutting her eyes for a moment she attempted to slow her breathing, tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling instead of the pain tearing through her head. 

A strike of white hot pain seared across her forehead, the horse jerked to a halt amid shouting and then it was strangely, blissfully silent. 

******

“So what you are telling me, Clegane, is that you and your men managed to lose not only the former princess but her mother and two sisters as well?” the king thundered. 

“Sire, we rode through the night. We had to kill two horses at the end of it because they’d been ridden so hard. By the time we arrived the estate was empty, nary a person or servant about. The gardens had been set fire to, windows were shattered, furniture upturned and hacked clear through, clothes and jewelry littered throughout the chambers. They were surely caught as unaware as we were. The two servants left; a dottering old woman and her grandson told of banners with krakens and men smelling of the sea, clothed in iron.”

“The Greyjoys?” Pycelle questioned, “What could they want with a woman and her children?”

“Perhaps they intend to hold them until they can determine whose side they fight for. Whoever has them has the greatest jewel in all the Kingdom,” Clegane remarked, “It was only a matter of time until someone realized their worth and took them.”

George slammed his fist down upon the table, rattling the crystal goblets, “Find them, Clegane. I don’t care if you need to burn down every peasant hut, every chapel, every noble estate along the way. Find them and bring them back.”

“Perhaps you should have Lady Arryn placed under house arrest, your grace,” Pycelle suggested quietly, “She, more than anyone, has the most to gain from having the girl in her grasp.” 

The king was silent for a long moment. Catelyn Arryn may very well hate him for standing in the way to the throne she believed was her son’s, but Lyanna would never agree to such a match. She was a Lannister for sure but a Targaryen through and through; proud, independent, fiercely protective of her children. The fires of the seven hells would have to open before Lyanna agreed to an alliance with her oldest rival. 

“Send some of your men to bring Lady Arryn here to court as well,” he said to the knight, before waving him away. 

A servant ran in the door, bowing low to Pycelle and the king, “Majesty, you must come at once. The Queen!”


	3. Chapter 3

The Isles  
Stark Camp

The weak rays of the early morning sun filtered in through the thin fabric of the tent. She was strangely warm, a welcome change from the cold dampness that had settled into her bones during their flight from Thatchers Cove. 

A table nearby held a pitcher and goblet and she reached for it, her hand shaking as she did. The goblet clattered to the ground and Elisa leaned back, weary from that small effort alone.

There was a stir at the door of the tent and she caught a glimpse of a guard as a familiar man ducked his head inside, smiling to see her awake.

“Ellie,” he greeted.

“Jon,” she said.

Crossing the space he pressed a quick kiss to her hand, squeezing her fingers. He was her mother’s youngest brother and they were more like siblings or cousins due to their six year age difference.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake finally,” he commented, returning the goblet to the table and pouring her a cup of wine as he did. 

“How long have I been...asleep?”

“A day. And awakened just in time, your lady mother and Lady Arryn were about to send for the surgeon.”

“The surgeon? To do what?”

“Bleed you.”

Elisa groaned. The last time she’d had one of these attacks her mother had agreed that she should be bled and the result had been diminished capacity, weakness, and a much longer stay in bed. She was relieved they’d managed to hold off.

“The last time I saw you, you were only a maid of what? Thirteen? But no more, now you are a young woman in the prime of her youth and beauty. And you do have the Targaryen beauty for certain but I sense a little bit of your Lannister blood in your eyes.” 

Elisa blushed. “Father always said I had the Lannister spirit.”

“A nice way to say a fiery temper,” Jon teased. 

“And will that displease Lord Stark?”

“I doubt you could displease him if you tried.”

“His mother seems quite willing to find fault with me.”

“Lady Arryn is as tough as some of the hardest soldiers among us. She’s fiercely loyal to her son and has suffered a great deal to get here. She reminds me a bit of someone else I know.”

“Mother? I know, I thought they might…”

“I meant you, Ellie.”

There was noise at the opening to the tent, a brief but heated exchange and a moment later a man, face weathered from years in the sun, pushed his way past the tent flap. 

“Jon,” the man greeted in surprise. 

“Lord Stark, might I present my niece, the Lady Elisa. Elisa this is Lord Eddard Stark, the King’s uncle.”

“Not the king yet,” he chided, “My lady,” he greeted.

“I am most sorry for not being able to welcome you properly Lord Stark,” she said, arranging the blankets around her more neatly.

He shook his head, “Don’t trouble yourself, my lady. I understand you were quite ill the other night. I do hope you’re feeling a bit better now.”

Elisa nodded slowly, “A bit. My head aches less than it did.”

“Good. The Kin...that is, Lord Robb has sent me to inquire as to whether or not the accommodations meet your needs and if there is anything you might require?”

“The accommodations are fine. A warm, dry place to lay my head is more than I had imagined in a battle camp,” she admitted with a small smile.

“And is there anything you need?”

“Freedom to make my own choices,” she thought to herself. 

She seemed to consider the question for a moment longer, “Might my sisters be brought here? They’ll be worried and I wish to assure them I am well.”

“Of course.”

“And maybe...something to eat?”

“I’ll have something prepared for you, my lady.”

“You rest and I’ll see to it that your sisters are sent for and that you’re given something to eat.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark. You have been most gracious.”

Giving her a small bow he turned and left through the open flap, leaving Jon and Elisa alone once more.

*****

“Well?” Robb asked, halting his impatient pacing to face his uncle. 

“She is...gracious, well mannered, and would very much like to see her sisters to assure them she is well.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Robb gave him a pointed look.

“And if I were a man of your age, I believe I would find her to be quite pleasing to look upon.”

“Quite?”

“Yes, quite. The Lannister girls have always been known for their beauty.”

“The Targaryen Lannisters you mean.”

“Of course. The dark hair and eyes of their mother and their grandmothers before them.”

“Enchantresses one and all,” Catelyn interjected, striding into the copse of trees where they were talking.

“Now Cat, those are old legends told in the nursery,” Ned chided.

“And how else would you explain these...visions she is rumored to have?”

“What visions?” Robb asked, suddenly confused. 

“You haven’t told him?” Catelyn asked, rounding on Ned.

“Told me what?”

“Robb, it is rumored, well, legends tell of an old crone who once visited the home of a quarrelsome lord. The lord, who despised guests, turned her away, but his wife, seeing the old woman had nowhere to go, offered her lodging in a vacant cottage nearby. The lady brought the woman food and firewood and what little she could. One day her secret was discovered by a member of the lord’s army. The lord was so enraged by this deception that he had his wife’s eyes torn from her head so she might never again see their guests and take pity upon them. When the crone found out what happened to her friend she gave her the gift of visions so that she might see the future.”

“Utter nonsense,” Catelyn murmured.

“It’s believed by many that the wife was a Targaryen who passed the gift onto her daughter and so on and so forth.”

“So you’re telling me that she can predict the future?” Robb asked.

“I’m telling you there’s an old nursery tale that’s been around for centuries that parents use to scare disobedient children into minding what they say.”

“Mother?”

“It’s foolishness spread by the Targaryens to help them set themselves apart. She does not have the gift of prophecy anymore than you or I, no matter what she or that loathsome mother of hers might say.”

“And when am I to meet her?” 

“On the morrow. She grew ill on the journey and is recovering from her fall from her horse,” Catelyn said. 

“And is she comfortable, Uncle?”

“As comfortable as any woman could be in a war camp,” Ned said, giving a small smile to Catelyn. 

“Fine then. Send her sisters to her. Uncle, we have work to do in the training field.”

“Robb!” Catelyn called out.

The two men turned to her.

“Mother?”

“I had thought...well...I will speak with you later,” she said, giving a small nod of her head. 

Catelyn stared at the receding forms, noting the proud bearing and stature of her son, the boy, no, the man who would be king. There would be time later for her to spend time with her son but now he needed to prepare for battle. 

*****

The Winter Kingdom  
Tower Hall, City Proper

The bell tolled its death knell, once, twice, three times as the Bishop lit the candles that surrounded the body. 

As the flames flickered to life the faces surrounding the funeral bier came into sharp relief; the King, his loyal servant Pycelle, his trusted guard, Clegane, men from every royal household, all gathered to send their Queen to her final resting place. 

Her death had come about as quickly as the illness that had ended her life; a quiet stealing away of her breath and heartbeat, a final sharp intake of breath and then nothing. 

The King had been present, stone faced and grim. Theirs had been a relationship of necessity; the joining of two noble families and though he had come to feel an affection for her, her loss did not leave him bereft. They had lost children, siblings, loyal servants and by the time the Bishop had said the final prayers and closed her eyes he had already begun to focus on the battle to come.

Catelyn Arryn was gone, stolen away in the night like the viper he’d always believed her to be. Her household had disbanded and no one seemed to know where she had gone. It had not taken much to realize she had fled to her son. 

“Summon all the great houses; Tyrell, Martell, Tarly, Frey, Mormont, Greyjoy, Reed, Umber, Karstark, Bolton, and all the others. Summon them at once to my cause. Let anyone who does not ride for us know they will be tried for the treasonous bastards they are. No mercy will be shown to those who fail to fight for their king,” he ordered Clegane.

Turning to Pycelle and the remaining members of his council he placed a hand upon the table, “To war, gentlemen.”

*****

Marianna and Brigette rushed through the flap of the tent, smiles lighting their faces as soon as they laid eyes on their sister.

“Oh, my little loves,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around each of them in a fierce hug.

“We were so worried, Ellie,” Marianna said against her sister’s gown.

“I know. And I’m sorry for scaring you. I fell because my head ached and I was sick from the trip.”

“Mother says it’s because you had another vision,” Brigette whispered.

Elisa paused. They had hidden her visions for as long as she could remember, discussing them only in secret and vowing never to share what she saw with anyone else.

“Whatever do you mean, sweetness?”

“Mother says you have visions, too. Just like me,” her sister said so softly Elisa thought she had misheard. 

“Brigitte, you are certain?”

The little girl nodded into Elisa’s neck.

“All shall be well, little one. Everything will be alright,” Elisa soothed, rubbing the girl’s back in careful circles. 

“It is strange here, Ellie,” Marianna said, curling up beside her sister on the cot, “I want to go home.”

“When the battle is won and I’ve married Lord Stark we will return to the Winter Kingdom.”

“To Papa’s palace by the sea?” she asked.

“Rosecroft,” Elisa thought, “How many years had it been since she’d seen the inside of the palace where she had been born and raised?”

“Perhaps, though I think the King will wish to reside in Tower Hall.”

“Will we ever go home again?” Marianna asked.

“Someday, poppet. Someday.”

Laying back upon her cot she cradled both girls close to her, whispering reassurances, singing songs to them, and finally falling to sleep.

*****

In the shadow of an ancient oak tree Lady Lyanna Lannister, once queen of all the Winter Kingdom stood with her head bowed, her heavy gray cloak concealing her form and her face. A skittering noise could be heard in the clearing, squirrels or leaves perhaps. She had no time to discover its source. Her absence would soon be discovered and Catelyn Arryn would have a hundred men searching for her in no time. 

“My lady,” a low voice whispered from a nearby tree. Squinting her eyes she was able to make out a dark form in the shadows and for a moment her heart rang with panic. She had been discovered. But the man pushed back his hood, his sharp, battle lined face and fair hair coming into relief in the fading sunlight. 

“Jorah,” she said quietly. 

It had been nearly a dozen years since she had last laid sight on him. Nearly a dozen years since her husband’s once most trusted advisor had fled the Winter Kingdom under most unusual circumstances. It was rumored that he had come to know the King’s niece, deflowering her and leaving her with child. The girl had died in childbirth so there was no way to ascertain the validity of these claims but the King had been incensed and banished him from his court. Others claimed he had failed to bring the treasonous and impossibly treacherous Stonemen from pledging their sworn fealty to the king. And still today an old rumor swirled that the Queen had enchanted him with her Targaryen magic, managing to get him to swear his allegiance to her and her alone. The truth was that he had quite enchanted the young, beautiful queen straight into his bed and narrowly escaped discovery. He was her Lancelot, sworn to protect and obey the King but with eyes for only her, his Guinevere. 

He gathered her into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers, the same searing flame of passion she always felt returned in an instant as though they had been apart ten days rather than 10 years. 

“My love,” he breathed against her hair, kissing down her throat until she pushed away with a harsh gasp. 

“We cannot, Jorah. Not here. Not now. We have but a moment. I have already been away too long.” 

“Then tell me what you would have me do.”

“This letter must be delivered to the King at once. Not to Pycelle, not to Clegane, to the King alone. Do you understand?”

He nodded, “Of course.”

 

“It is crucial that he believe we were taken against our will by the Starks. Elisa’s life may depend on it.” 

“But surely you don’t think…”

“There is no guarantee the great houses will rally to the Stark boys side. Without them defeat is a certainty. He does not have the numbers or the men, Jorah. If he is to die, the King must know that Elisa did not come willingly. She must still be a viable option for him.”

“And you are certain this is wise, Lyanna?”

“There is no other way, my love. We must be prepared to go with whoever is victorious.”

“And when this is settled we will…?”

“We will, my love,” she assured, kissing him softly, “Now go.”

Kissing her hand and taking the letter he wound his way back through the forest cover. 

At the edge of the trees Lyanna looked both ways, returning her hood over her head before stepping out into the clearing. 

From behind a tree Jon Targaryen stepped into the dusk. “What are you playing at Lyanna?’ he wondered to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

The Winter Kingdom  
Tower Hall, City Proper

The page boy who appeared at the doorway of the council’s chambers was trembling slightly as he was called forth by Master Pycelle. With trembling hands he placed the missive he held onto the table before the king.

“A rider in the courtyard, your majesty,” the boy stammered, bowing away from the table. 

The seal with its familiar imprint of the symbol of House Tarly was opened and the king scanned its contents, nodding quickly and then slamming his hand down upon the table.

“Your grace?” Pycelle questioned.

“Tarly has declared for us but believes Reed and Martell will swear fealty to the Stark upstart. Traitorous bastards.”

“Your majesty, if I may,” Lord Tyrell began, “House Reed has no more than five hundred men and even that is likely a high estimate. The Martells bring a thousand but even with that, all he has is an unruly band of mercenaries.”

“And what if Greyjoy, Umber, Karstark, Tully, and the others join with him? What then? If he does have the Qu...the Lady Lyanna and her daughters they are assured of at least half of the Lannister and Targaryen support. We will be outnumbered and easily defeated in the field.”

The councilors grew quiet.

“Then it would appear you must find a way to bring the Lannister and Targaryen banners to your cause,” Tyrell said plainly. 

“And how would you suggest I do...oh, oh yes indeed, I see now. Clegane! Find Ramsay Bolton at once. He wishes to prove himself worthy of my trust, here is his chance. Send him to the Isles to bring back Lady Elisa.”

“Sire, send me. Bolton is but a lad and unlikely to succeed in this mission.”

“You are far too recognizable, Clegane and I cannot win this war without you. No, send Bolton and if he succeeds he shall have the title he longs for.”

“And if he fails, your grace?”

“Then I shall be rid of him either way.” 

“Your majesty, there is a rider here to see you,” his chamberlain informed him. 

“Send him to the kitchens. They’ll see to it he has a meal and his horse is watered.”

“He is most insistent, your grace. Says he is under strict orders to speak with you and only you. I believe...well, he has the appearance of Sir Jorah Mormont,” the chamberlain whispered. 

“Mormont, you say? I thought he was dead.”

“So did I, your grace, but he looks quite like the man we once knew as your brother’s trusted councilor.”

Without another word he swept from the room, following the path that led from his council chambers to the stairs and then into the small alleyway nestled between the Tower Hall and Tower Castle. The soldier guarding the doorway stepped into the darkened space, eyes alert and on the tall man who stood opposite the king.

“Your grace,” the hooded man said, bowing low.

“Mormont? Is that you? Take off that hood and let me look at you.”

The man did as asked, pulling back his garment and revealing a face George Lannister, King of the Winter Kingdom, had not seen in many years. The man before him was older, face creased with the lines of age and worn from days spent riding in the sun and storm, cold and fair. His hair was less plentiful than George recalled, but who among them hadn’t lost hair in these years of battle and backstabbing? 

“Seven hells, man. Where have you been all this time?”

“Here and there,” the man answered, pulling a small scroll from within the pocket of his robe. 

“What is this?”

“It’s a letter from the Queen….from the Lady Lyanna. She and her daughters were stolen away in the night by the Arryn men and taken to the Stark camp. She is writing to beg your assistance.”

Unfurling the paper he held it between his thumb and forefinger, hastily reading the script scrawled as if in a hurry. 

 

 

To his majesty, King George,

I write to inform you that we have been stolen away from Thatcher’s Cover. Men carrying Arryn banners arrived in the night, easily overpowering my household and demanding that my daughters and I follow them. We are now held by the Stark boy and his mother and uncle against our will and against our wishes. My informants tell me they have heard Lady Arryn arranging a marriage between her son and my daughter, the Lady Elisa. I fear what may become of us when the Stark boy loses this battle. I beg of you, please send us aid in our hour of need. Whatever love and affection you had for your brother, I plead with you now to use it to help our cause. 

LTL

 

“How did you come by this letter?” George demanded. 

“From the lady herself. We met in the woods on the edge of the Stark encampment.” 

“And how did she manage to get word to you and escape the watch of the Stark guards?” 

“Lady Lyanna has always had her spies and allies, your grace. You know that as well as I.”

And it was true. Lyanna had always managed to be one step ahead of him, a step ahead of Edward before him, even a step ahead of her own husband when it suited her purposes. 

“And you believe they are truly at the mercy of the Starks?”

“From what I can tell, your grace. They appear to be keeping the girls separated from Lady Lyanna, there are guards posted around all of their tents. I know the Lady Elisa fell ill during her trip but Lady Arryn demanded they continue on. I would think that if they had gone of their own will, Lady Lyanna would have halted the procession to tend to her daughter.”

The King pondered this information, tapping his thumb against his lips. 

“And you can get a message to her?”

Mormont nodded, “It will take at least a day and a half to return to the Isles, longer should the weather not cooperate.”

He nodded at this, “Tell her to have the Lady Elisa ready on the night of the coming full moon. I’ll have my men lying in wait at the edge of camp.”

“And the Lady Lyanna? And the girls?”

“They’ll be time for only one though you are certainly welcome to abscond with them yourself.” 

Mormont nodded. “I’ll return to the Stark camp at once, your grace.”

“Oh and Mormont, if this is some sort of ploy of Lyanna’s to play both sides I will find out and I will have you put to a traitor’s death.”

****   
The Isles  
Stark Camp 

 

They had left Marianna and Brigette in Elisa’s care and the girls had seemed much less fearful by nightfall. Jon had joined them for dinner, bringing small trinkets for each girl and a deck of playing cards to help while away the time. Marianna had been but a year old when Jon left and Brigette never knew her uncle and they were shy and timid in his presence.

“And where is our lady mother this evening?” Elisa asked after the girls had been safely tucked into bed.

“I fear I know less of my sister’s whereabouts now than I did during these years at Robb’s side. Has she not been to see you then?”

Elisa shook her head, twisting a golden band on her finger. 

“I am certain she will be here tomorrow for your presentation to the king.”

“Tell me about him,” she said, voice barely more than a whisper. 

Jon considered for a moment. Would she be interested in his skill at leading? Perhaps she wanted a physical recounting. Maybe it was his virtues she wished to hear about.

“Everything. I want to know everything,” she said after a moment.

“He is considered handsome by many,” he began.

“I’ve seen a drawing. I wish to know what kind of man he is? Is he kind? Will he be patient? Is he hardened by his years in exile, fighting for his very survival? What can I expect from this man I do not know, who I fear I cannot trust, and who probably wishes for this marriage even less than I.”

“Ellie, you mustn’t...you are worrying yourself unnecessarily.”

“I’ve seen what they do to queens, Uncle. My mother, Queen Anne, her sister before her, the mad King’s Queen.”

He had no comforting words. It was true that the life of the Queen was one of endless machinations, scheming, and looking over one’s shoulder wondering who could and could not be trusted all while managing a massive household, bearing children, and tending to the King. 

“Your marriage; this union between you and Robb will unite the people. Their love for the Lannister princess has never waned. And they are tired of the endless fighting, the taxes, the loss of countless men. If Robb is able to bring the peace he has promised while naming you as his queen, the people will come to love you more and be grateful to him.”

“And he is happy about that? That his wife should be beloved and he should merely be the object of their gratitude?”

“No. If you must know he has raged against the very idea of you being paraded about as Queen. He insists it will only inflame their loyalty to your mother and that Lannister supporters will seek to have him killed to gain the throne for themselves.”

She slid into a nearby chair, “And so he already hates me.”

“Hate is far too strong a word, niece. He is...he does not know you and he does not know the people he is meant to rule. He has lived abroad these many years and some people see him as a foreign invader. And you are a true princess of royal blood, the first born daughter of Edward Lannister and Lyanna Targaryen. Any man would be daunted.”

“Well you may inform him that I am as desirous of this...this arrangement as he is,” she said, raising an eyebrow imperiously. 

Jon laughed, “You may tell him yourself. He has heard about the legendary Targaryen pride. I think he quite imagines he shall be able to tame it.”

She gave a small laugh, “Hardly.”

“My only advice to you is to be patient. He is a good man beneath the facade of the battle hardened soldier. A good man who will be a good king. And yes, a good husband and father,” he finished, smiling at her before finishing the last of his wine. 

“And now I shall bid you goodnight, my lady. Thank you for the meal and the company,” he said, bowing over her hand.

“Don’t...I’m not…”

“As close to a queen as we have right now. You’d best get used to it,” he said, pulling back the flap of the tent.

But standing in the tent, the chilly air swirling about her skirts, she wasn’t sure she could get used to it. 

******

The mist rose from the lake like some kind of ephemeral creature of the other world. On silent feet, Lyanna crept towards the waters edge, her dark cloak wrapped about her. From her pocket she withdrew a small piece of cloth, torn from Brigette’s night clothes. Deftly undoing the knot her fingers fumbled briefly for a second, landing on the small items she’d placed earlier. One by one she held each item for a moment, whispering soft, indecipherable words before tossing each into the water. When she’d heard the small splash of water where the last token landed she murmured a final prayer to the water goddess and hurried back in quiet.

“What are you about, Lyanna?” Jon asked, stepping from the shadows and towards his sister.

“By all the gods, brother. You’ve given me a fright!”  
she said, clutching her cloak. 

He eyed her warily, studying her dark eyes for signs of deception. 

“Why were you alone by the lake? Where are your guards?”

“My guards? Surely you don’t agree with Lady Arryn that keeping me guarded is a necessity.”

“I think keeping any woman guarded in a war camp is not only a matter of necessity but one that is prudent as well. Men on the brink of battle are known to drink and carouse and get themselves into situations they would not otherwise. I’m sure Lady Arryn only wishes to ensure your safety.”

“And yet she has no guard of her own. Interesting, is it not?”

“Lord Stark and his men guard her ladyship at all times.”

Lyanna laughed, the familiar, enchanting, bewitching some had said, sound that he remembered from his youth. 

“I am certain Lord Stark does keep her ladyship closely guarded.”

“Lyanna, please. Whatever machinations you are plotting, whatever...things you’re whispering into the night just remember that your daughter is at stake.”

“You caution me about my daughter? You who’ve lived among these...these men for the last ten years? You who’ve gained the favor of the pretender king and his inner circle.”

He took her by the arms, “You cannot say such things, Lyanna! You know as well as I that his claim to the throne is strong.”

“Not as strong as my daughter’s.”

“Precisely, Lyanna. Precisely. He needs her and she needs him if you ever hope to see your husband’s children restored to their former place.”

She shrugged, “Perhaps.”

“What does that mean?”

“Perhaps marriage to this false...to this as yet untested boy is not Elisa’s only option.”

Pulling back to look at her he considered her words. Surely she could not mean there was another potential marriage to be made? There was no other possible suitor who might bring his niece the crown. Though there was...no, it was too absurd to consider. Certainly his sister would not consent to such a match. 

“You cannot possibly mean…”

Lyanna nodded, “Now you’re catching on, brother dear. I see no reason why we should place all of our jewels into one treasure chest, hmm?”

“Lyanna, you cannot be serious. He is her…father’s brother.”

“As you are mine. And believe me, Jon. If I thought for a moment you could secure the throne for her, it would be you wedding her.”

The look on his face was one of horror; horror at her suggestion, horror at the ease with which she used her daughter to her own advantage, horror at the pride with which Lyanna spoke.

Pointing at her he hissed into the still, dark night, “Whatever you believe yourself to be in control of, let it go, Lyanna. I beg of you.”

“Too late, brother. The die has already been cast,” she said and with a final flourish of her cloak she turned and headed back towards the camp.

Swearing under his breath Jon watched his sister go, watched her slip into camp as though she was air and hardly human at all. He had been hardly a boy himself when Lyanna married the king against the counsel of every one of his advisors. “A Targaryen Queen?” they had raged, “Commoners and witches the lot of them.” But no one dared deny Edward Lannister who was so thoroughly besotted with the Targaryen girl, daughter of some low knight, that he’d married her in secret. 

Lyanna’s marriage had brought great wealth and influence to their father and to her siblings. His oldest brothers and sisters were married into noble families, military appointments secured for others, and even the youngest among them were granted land and titles. Those first years had been golden, a never ending stream of balls and lavish parties. There was no end to the merriment and nothing anyone desired more than to be the presence of the King and his comely wife. 

On Jon’s tenth name day the news had arrived from the South; the King’s own brother had rallied an army and marched North, seeking to depose the King and claim the throne for himself. From then on, nothing was the same. 

Battles were fought and won, others were fought and lost and the death of his father and eldest brother had wounded his mother and the Queen most deeply. At eighteen he’d been sent abroad to join the forces of the would be king, Robb Stark.   
“Play your part and remember who you are,” Lyanna had whispered fiercely before hugging him and pushing him towards the ship.

And in the beginning he had. He’d endeavored to make the fake king his closest friend and confidant, reporting every word, every plan, every conversation to his sister. His loneliness, his bitterness at being exiled left him vulnerable and eventually he found himself among the usurpers inner circle and he found he’d come to like and admire the young man, only a few months younger than himself. Lyanna’s failure to send for him upon their mother’s death had been the final insult so while he continued to write, his news became less forthcoming, the details he did share were half truths and deceptions disguised as serious pieces of information and Lyanna had seemed none the wiser. 

It took him only a moment to decide what he would do before he began striding back to camp in the direction of the soldiers quarters. 

 

****** 

“And it must be tonight?” Robb asked, pacing the length of the tent.

“I’d prefer it was now but since it would only cause a commotion and we cannot have anyone else aware of our plan, it must be tonight,” Catelyn insisted. 

Robb’s eyes met his uncle’s. Ned was grim faced but nodded his agreement.

“And you and Uncle will be present, of course. But who from her own people will stand to bear witness?” he asked.

“I will, your grace. As her uncle and brother of the que—Lady Lyanna, I will bear witness,” Jon said quietly from his place before the fire.

Robb, momentarily confused, furrowed his brow before remembering that of course his closest friend was also the uncle of his chosen bride. 

“And you shall arrange for the friar to be there?” Catelyn asked Ned.

“Yes, of course.”

“And I’ll arrange for some privacy for you and your bride,” Catelyn said.

“Privacy? For what reason?” 

“The bedding, Robb,” she blushed, intentionally blocking the image from her mind. 

“The bedding? Surely that can wait until…”

“Until when? Until the battle is won? Until Lyanna Lannister’s plans are revealed? The false king could be on your door at any moment and the only way to prevent him from declaring your marriage invalid is for you to consummate your vows and pray she falls with child.”

Jon closed his eyes, pretending they were discussing someone other than his niece. He had known the cost when he’d gone to Ned and repeated his sister’s words. He had not imagined how urgently Lady Arryn would desire things to move.

“And there is no other way?” Robb asked.

“None, my son. If the marriage remains unconsummated it is as simple as George paying off the friar to say the marriage never took place.”

“And if she does not...what happens if no child is conceived?”

“Then George Lannister will hardly wish to take her as his wife.”

“Cat, she is only a girl,” Ned protested. Wish as he might, there appeared to be no either way for Robb to fully secure the throne but he would not allow a young woman of royal birth to be used so cruelly. 

“I hardly think any of us need worry. If she is her mother’s daughter you can be certain she will give you a brood of fine royal princes.” 

 

A look passed between Jon and Ned, both faces hardened. 

“Well, are we all just going to stand here gawking? You have a friar to locate and you have a princess to meet,” Catelyn said. 

“My lady, if I might…” Jon began. 

“No, you may not. Inform your niece she has one hour to make ready for her king.”

“Mother, I hardly think…”

“One hour to prepare for her king, Lord Targaryen. Do you understand?”

Giving a quick nod of his head he exited behind Lord Stark. 

“Are you all right with this plan, my lord?”

Ned glanced at the young man, “I’d hardly say I’m comfortable with what Lady Arryn has suggested.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“I propose you see to your niece and let me handle Lady Arryn.”

*****

Elisa used the basin of water her guard had delivered moments earlier to wash and fix her hair. The one trunk she had brought with her had gone missing in the mele of a war camp and the only gown she had was the one she traveled in, a soiled, damp mess that was in no way fitting for her to meet the would be king. They’d refused to allow her to see her mother who would almost certainly have something she could wear and instead brought a gown that belonged to Lady Arryn. The dress was a plain black material, a few simple roses embroidered around the cuffs. The older woman was several inches taller than Elisa so the dress dragged a bit upon the ground but it covered her mud spattered slippers so she offered no complaint. 

Without the assistance of her maid it took twice as long for her to dress and by the time she’d finished with her clothes and hair, the hour she had been promised was at its end.

Turning at the sound of the tent flap being raised she braced herself against the small table and released a sigh of relief when Jon entered.

“Jon, I thought you were…”

“The king? He is right outside but I asked for a moment.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted you to know that no matter what happens, the kin—Robb is a good man and he will be kind and fair to you.”

“Whatever does that mean? Is something going to happen to me? We were assured of our safety here. I can’t imagine what…”

But she had no time to finish her thought as the guard announced the king and the tent flap was pulled back and he stepped inside.

“It’s you,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his own.

“Aye. And you are...I...it seems that we have met before but I know that cannot be. Yet you are so familiar,” he said.

Elisa was blushing under his gaze. The portrait she had seen hardly did justice to his broad frame and slender waist. It couldn’t describe the blue of his eyes or the curl of his hair or the way he was looking at her. 

Robb couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. She was wearing a ridiculously ugly dress, one he could only imagine was loaned by his mother to make her look as unbecoming as possible. But there was no doubt she was a beauty with her soft skin and her dark hair waving down her back and over her shoulders. And then there was the feeling that he’d known her before this. 

“Your grace, might I present my niece, the Princess Elisa of house Lannister,” Jon interrupted, caught off guard by the strange interaction but quickly remembering that Lady Arryn would be standing outside expecting a full recounting. 

“Your grace,” Elisa said, falling into a curtsey. 

“Princess,” he greeted in return, “I know this is most unusual but I had hoped...well, rather, it appears we must marry.”  
Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it had not been this and her face fell slightly, replaced by a mask of solicitude. 

“As you wish, your grace,” she said.

“Good. The wedding shall take place this evening,” he nodded emphatically.

“This evening? But I thought...it’s only...I hadn’t expected it to be so soon,” she finished quietly. 

“We have reason to believe that your uncle is on his way here now to lay claim to you, Princess,” Jon explained. 

“And a wedding will stop him from doing so?” 

The two men exchanged a look, "A wedding may not but…”Jon began uncomfortably. 

“A child would,” she finished for him. She knew all too well that it had taken her own birth and the eventual births of her brothers to fully solidify her mother’s own position as queen. 

She turned from them, took a deep breath, steadied her nerves. 

“And my mother?” she asked, “Will she be permitted to attend?” 

Jon shook his head no, “For her own safety and yours, the fewer people who know, the safer we think it will be.”

“And I suppose this was your mother’s idea?” she asked, turning to Robb who gave her a pointed look. 

“My mother only wants what it is best,” he said.

“For you. She only wants what is best for you. I’m just the means to her end.”

They glared at each other for a moment, his eyes flashing angrily, hers filled with defiance. 

“I want this marriage even less than you, Princess, but since it appears to be the only way I can ensure my throne, then I’ll do it. But you should know that no one has believed in my cause more fervently than my mother and that this...this match was suggested by YOUR mother.”

His words had the desired effect. He was no more happy about this than she was and her mother had been behind this entire arrangement. She should have been surprised that Lyanna was playing both sides but it had been the same way much of her life; her mother scheming and plotting, saying one thing but doing another, weaving her web of deception and half truths. It was her own fault, in truth. If she’d never had those dreams, never mentioned them to her mother then she might be still safely at home. 

“What Rob--his grace means to say is that neither of you have had much say in this most important of matters and that just as you are a pawn in your mother’s plans, so too is he.” Jon said gently, attempting to ease the growing tension. 

“And I gather that you shall stand in as my family member?” she asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Well then, since all the details have been seen to, it would appear there’s no further need for conversation.”

“No, I think the conversation has concluded,” Robb said tightly, jaw clenched.

“Your grace,” she said, though her teeth were gritted and her smile was forced.

“Princess,” he said though the word sounded tainted, like he’d sucked on a lemon and discovered it was bitter.

Helplessly looking from his niece to his friend and back again, Jon watched Elisa’s face turn grimly hardened before following behind Robb.

Catelyn and Ned practically had to jump back from the flap of the tent when Robb stormed out, Jon only a moment behind.

“Well?” Catelyn asked, “Did she give her consent?”

“With as much enthusiasm as I gave mine,” Robb said.

“And she understands what her obligations are?”

“Cat,” Ned warned quietly.

“Oh she understands, Mother. Understands and seems to be just delighted at spending her wedding night in a battle camp with me, no less,” he hissed.

“She should be grateful that you have chosen her; grateful and honored.”

“And yet she is not.”

“Robb, these matters sometimes require a...delicate handling. Perhaps if you were to go back and offer some kind words she might be more amenable to the idea,” Ned offered.

“Go back and grovel for her to accept me as her husband and king? I should think not. We will marry and do our duty and when I have my heir and this battle is won, I will be free to live as I wish.”

“Robb, I hardly think now is the time…” Ned began, interrupted by his nephew’s upraised hand.

“See to it that she has something better to wear than that wretched black gown,” he said, glowering at his mother. “And have a bath made ready for her.”

Storming off with Ned and Jon behind him he bumped into his squire, nearly knocking the young man over in his haste. 

“Send hot water to my tent, Karstark,” he said, steadying the lad on his feet.

“Yes, my lord. I mean yes, your grace..your majesty.”

And with a final glowering look at his mother he stomped off to his tent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of body parts and marital consummation.

The light from a few small lanterns flickered in the velvety blackness. It was nearly one in the morning when the last of the rowdiest soldiers had fallen asleep and almost two by the time Jon arrived to escort Elisa to the clearing by the lake deep in the woods. 

Not even a hot bath or sitting before the blazing fire in her tent could warm her. The cloak of silver that matched the lining of her sleeves was hardly any protection against the chill of the night, her hands were frigid and every so often her body would shudder in protest.

“He will be kind to you, niece,” Jon said as he took Elisa’s frigid hand and linked it through his arm.

She nodded, averting her eyes because if she looked at him she would certainly falter and beg to be returned to her mother and sisters. Instead she focused on walking, one foot in front of the other and breathing, deep, calming breaths. 

The wind whistled through the trees, blowing strands of Elisa’s hair around her face and there was no denying she was stunning, no doubt she carried herself with a regal elegance that her entire life had prepared her for, no question that she would be a prize of great price for any man in the Winter Kingdom.

He gave a small nod of his head when she rounded the corner with Jon. They’d managed to find her a dress somewhere, purple with silver lined sleeves and a pattern of intertwined knots in silver thread lining the sleeves and bodice of the gown. 

From beside him his uncle gave a small sigh of relief as though he’d believed the bride to be might have disappeared into the mist that covered these woods like some kind of spectral creature from the beyond. His mother frowned, her eyes hardening at the sight of the young woman walking towards him and he wondered what secrets she might know, what things she might have hidden from him to ensure the marriage went forward. 

He had no idea where Ned had managed to find a friar, not even the faintest clue who the man was but he certainly seemed the part with his robes of black and the set of prayer beads about his waist. He smiled kindly at Robb who knew instantly the man had been promised a new friary or perhaps a library or some other such donation if he played his part to completion. 

His bride looked sick, as though she might collapse in a heap before reaching him. Her dark hair gleamed in the glow of the lamps and her dark eyes stared straight ahead but her skin was pale and her hands were like ice when Jon placed her small one into his larger one. 

Reflexively he squeezed gently, hoping to reassure her, to lend her some of his own warmth, and her eyes fluttered to his, searching his face for something she couldn’t name. 

The ceremony proceeded in the normal way though all of the usual traditions were forgone in favor of hastening the exchange of vows and handfasting. As he gripped her hand in his as the friar bound them together, Elisa felt the first rush of warmth course through her, then a second and a third before she closed her eyes for a moment. 

Swords clashed together, struggling for dominance before one gave and the knight holding the other ran his opponent through. Shouts and cries, the moans and keening of the wounded and dying rise from a ground stained with blood, and everywhere there was fighting. A man fell to his knees, his helmet falling to the ground as the sound of a sword slicing the air whistled past and then a crown tumbled forward, landing on the open ground between the combatants.

Elisa gasped, eyes flying open to Robb’s inquiring look. Giving a small shake of her head she tried to focus on the friar’s words, attempted to erase the images from her mind but all she could see was the crown falling to the ground. 

“And now you say the words,” the friar directed, looking first to Robb.

“I Robb, of House Stark, do hereby pledge my loyalty, fidelity, body, and all my worldly goods to you, Elisa, of House Lannister. I vow to you my protection, my heart, and my home. By all the gods, old and new, I swear this unto thee.”

“I Elisa, of House Lannister, do hereby pledge my loyalty, fidelity, body, and all my worldly goods to you, Robb, of House Stark. I vow to you my obedience, my heart, and my lasting devotion. By all the gods, old and new, I swear this unto thee.”

Robb could feel her pulse beneath his fingers, the steady thrum of blood pulsing through her veins, the still chilled press of her skin against his own. 

As the friar unbound their hands Robb studied the girl before him; shorter than he by several inches, dark, deep set eyes that were at once alluring and aloof at the same time, cascades of brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, the faintest blush to her cheeks. 

“Your grace?” someone prompted. 

“What’s that?”

“I said it is time to seal your vows,” the friar repeated, stepping back slightly as Robb dipped his head towards his bride.

It was a briefly chaste press of his lips to her own, nothing forceful, nothing demanding and for a girl who had been raised in the storm of her parents passion, there was something comforting in his gentleness.

With a final prayer to the maiden, the friar concluded the service to a set of murmured responses and a quick bow to Catelyn before being led into the inky darkness by Ned. 

There was no wedding banquet, no dancing and frivolity, no music, no celebratory fanfare as Elisa had long imagined there would be. She had hoped for a royal wedding, an unparalleled celebration full of pomp and circumstance. What girl raised as she had been would not? Her mother, her aunts, the ladies maids who surrounded her all spoke of weddings as some kind of magical and sacred bond. She could remember sitting at her mother’s feet as her aunts, one after another, planned their elaborate and costly weddings. She had imagined a gown of the finest silk, the precious jewels given to her mother by her father adorning her neck and ears, a diadem made especially for the occasion on her head. And those dreams had sustained her through the long, lonely days in sanctuary and then through the constant worry of being restored to the court but never knowing who to trust or turn to. 

“Your grace, my lady,” Jon said quietly, “If you’ll follow me we’ve had a tent prepared.”

Nestled beneath an arbor of trees, branches stretched long and wide to provide cover was a small tent, lit from the inside, the flap pulled back to reveal a bed and a small table and chairs.

“It’s not fit for a king and his bride but it was the best we could arrange for on such short notice,” Jon said.

“It’s fine, Jon. Really. Thank you” Robb said.

“And Lord Stark and I will be just on the other side of that hill there, keeping watch.”

Elisa blushed, wanting to die a hundred small deaths at the thought of the two men being in such close proximity.

Nodding, Robb stepped aside to allow his bride to enter, the train of her cloak trailing behind her, rustling the leaves. Closing the flap behind him, he stepped inside the tent, taking in the threadbare furnishings and the bed piled high with blankets and furs. 

A small fire had been laid for them and it was warmer inside than it had been out but Elisa still shivered, pulling her cloak about her more tightly.

“You need not worry that I’m going to attack you. I’m not some wild animal incapable of controlling his urges,” he commented, pouring himself a goblet of wine.

“I hardly think...I’m quite cold, your grace. This dress isn’t particularly warm and it’s rather frigid outside.”

He was an idiot. Of course she was cold. He’d felt her trembling during the ceremony and now he was accusing her of thinking something that wasn’t true. 

“I’m sorry, Prin—Elisa. Is that alright? Calling you Elisa, I mean?”

She nodded.

“Here, come and sit by the fire,” he said, dragging one of the chairs closer, “Some wine?”

“Please,” she said, settling into the chair, reaching her hands out, encouraging some feeling back into them. 

Placing the goblet on the table beside her he sat in his own chair, staring into the fire. 

“I suppose this isn’t the way you’d imagined it,” he said after a bit.

“No, it’s not.”

She hadn’t tried to demure or reassure him or stroke his ego by insisting it was fine. She’d been honest and it both surprised and unnerved him. He hardly knew who was being truthful with him these days. Everyone was suspect, everyone’s motives could be called into question, everyone was out for themselves. And yet she’d answered truthfully. 

“I am sorry that it had to happen this way...with so little fanfare. You are a princess, after all.”

“Hardly, your grace. My uncle delegitimized my father and therefore rendered his claim and that of my brothers and sisters null and void. I haven’t been a princess in many years.”

“And yet, you’re the only bride in all of the Winter Kingdom that can help me unite my supporters with those who have been loyal to the Lannisters.”

“So it would seem. Though I fear I’ve been given far too much credit for having influence over people who hardly know me.”

“So you don’t feel that you are a worthy match for the true king, then?”

She looked at him, her eyes flashing in the light of the fire.

“Which king do you speak of? Both you and my uncle claim a right to the throne and as far as I can see, he is the one currently ruling while you hide in your camp and wait for your mother to tell you what to do next.”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, his fingers flexed over the arms of the chair, his jaw clenched tightly. 

“Do you question my claim to the throne then?”

“No more than I question my uncle’s. You both talk a great deal about what is yours and yet neither of you appear to do much in the way of proving it.”

He was towering over her before she had a chance to reach for her goblet, “Get up,” he ordered, voice hard and demanding.

Rising from the chair, Elisa stood before him. Yanking her cloak from her shoulders Robb let it fall to the ground, eyeing her appraisingly as he walked around her.

With his hands on her waist he pulled her towards him, swallowing her gasp of surprise as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and kissed her hard. 

“What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” she asked, pulling back from him.

“I’m going to show you exactly what is mine,” he said, “And perhaps by tomorrow you’ll be feeling differently about just whose side you’re on.”

*****

Robb had slept fitfully; tossing about in the narrow cot they shared. At first her faint and muffled crying had kept him awake. He wanted to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort or at least to ask if she was well but every time he reached towards her her words about his mother controlling him came back. Guilt and regret settled in sometime after dawn, leaving him with his own conscience. He hadn’t been rough or cruel but he certainly hadn’t been particularly kind or all that concerned with her pleasure either. He’d ordered her out of her gown, watching as she undressed, her cheeks bright red and burning. Her shift left little to the imagination and he’d kissed her again, walking her back until her knees bumped the bed and he gently pushed her back. He’d fumbled with his breeches, feeling like an 18 year old virgin once more, shoving them down while yanking her gown around her hips. Grasping a breast he pushed his way inside of her, ignoring her sharp gasp of pain and moving with a hurried pace he finished with a guttural cry, squeezing the soft flesh of her breast tightly in his hand. 

Despite her best attempts to hide any evidence of consummation he couldn’t help but see the small blood stains on the sheets or the way she gingerly walked towards the pitcher of water on a nearby table. He’d given her a perfunctory kiss goodnight, blowing out several candles before curling into his side of the cot. 

Now with the sun brightening the dark night he felt stripped bear, vulnerable and sad. He’d known he’d have to marry to secure the Stark line, known that it was likely to be a marriage arranged by his mother to ensure his throne, but he had dared to hope it might at least be with someone who would find him pleasant and that they might be companionable if not in love. Rolling to his side he tossed the covers back, pulling on his pants and stepping into his boots. 

The faint light of sunrise was beginning to peek over the horizon and the temperature had dropped further, causing him to shiver slightly. The ground around the tent was empty though he knew Jon and his uncle would be nearby keeping watch. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath he began to walk in the direction of the woods hoping the fresh air and activity would help clear his mind but after pacing the same route he was no closer to understanding what he should do. 

“You’re pacing,” Ned said so quietly Robb was convinced he’d misheard. 

“And so what if I am?”

“You only pace when you’ve got something on your mind. When you were a lad you’d walk the length of my study over and over.”

“I am not thinking,” he said, sounding like a stubbornly petulant child.

“And how is your bride this morning?”

“Fine. Well. I don’t...she was asleep when I left. I am not certain how she is.”

“I know I’m just an old man but might I offer a word or two of wisdom?”

Nodding, he settled against a nearby tree bracing for one of Ned’s talks about duty and honor and all of the things he’d had pounded into his brain over and over again since childhood. 

“Women are a bit like…”

“Flowers,” Robb finished. “I’m aware, my tutors did teach me about chivalry and courtly love.”

“I was going to say that women are a bit like that tree behind you. Strong, upright, a place for shelter from the rain and shade from the sun, a source of warmth when used for a fire. They can be timid, easily bent or broken in a storm or they can be majestic and noble, quite like the one you’re leaning on now.”

“And?”

“And just like any living thing, trees require care and nurture. They need sunshine and rain to grow and flourish, the soil needs to have the right conditions so the trees roots can take hold, and in the beginning they need an extra bit of tender care as they grow from sapling to oak. A tree left too long in the sun, without water, and foul soil will wither and die. A sapling without a bit of tending can become frail and fragile, breaking easily at the first storm. But a tree that has been well tended, treated with gentleness and patience as it grows will become a towering pillar of strength, a source of comfort in rain or shine, and a source of pride for its gardener.”

“So you’re suggesting I do a better job of gardening?”

Ned smirked, “What I am counseling, nephew, is patience, tenderness, kindness, and for you to rein in your quick temper and try to see things from the perspective of a young woman who has been just a much a pawn in her mother’s machinations as you have been in your mother’s.” 

“And this will work?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve never been married. But I do know the kind of man you are and what you are capable of and I have no doubt you’ll manage to figure it out.”

“What if I don’t?”

Ned shrugged, “Then I fear your tree will wither and die and all the rest of us as well.”

 

With his uncle’s words ringing in his ears, Robb returned to the clearing. 

Patience. He could do that. Kindness was something he was capable of. Controlling his temper would be more of a challenge but he would endeavor to do his best. 

Pulling back the flap of the tent he stepped inside, noticing the embers of the fire, her cloak on the chair, the pile of furs and blankets on the bed, but no bride. 

Turning he stormed back outside, circling the tent once and then a second time as though she might appear from beneath it.

“Elisa!” he shouted into the sky, “Elisa!” 

“Robb!” Ned shouted, pushing through the clearing, seeing his nephew turn about wildly. 

“She’s gone! I came back and the tent was empty and she’s gone.”

Panic rising, he yelled her name a third time, letting it echo on the wind. 

“Find her. Find her now,” he demanded, tearing through the tent another time. 

Without her, without an heir to join their family lines, everything he’d been preparing for these many years was for naught.


End file.
